'That's the window, my man,' said Mr. Chilcote, when they reached the house; 'do you think you can manage it?'
'Aye, aye, sir,' was the reply. 'Don't you fear!'
But it was a more difficult task than even Tom Venner expected. However, his stilts were soon in working order, and whilst the watchers held their breath for fear, the man accomplished his task. Smashing a pane of glass, he roused the little sleeper, who, owing to the terrible mistake of a well-nigh distraught maid, had been left alone in the Manor House.
A frightened cry came from poor Phil's lips at the sound of the breaking glass. In a few words, however, the man calmed his fears, and explained what had happened. In another moment, little Phil was out of bed, and the window was unfastened by his trembling fingers.
'Have you got a bit of cord handy?' asked Tom Venner of the child.
'Yes; nurse's box-cord is here,' was the reply; 'I use it for my reins.'
'Oh, well, that will do—give it me, quick.'
Tom steadied himself on his stilts as firmly as he could, and then came the difficult task of bringing down the little lad. How he did it Tom could scarcely tell you himself, but certain it is that a few minutes later Phil was safe in his father's arms.
'I say, I am awfully sorry I talked all that rot about—about ingratitude, you know.' So said Dick Chilcote, looking with shamed eyes into Tom Venner's face.